


no, we're not a starbucks

by Casylum



Series: Borkage 2018 [2]
Category: Original Work, Pineapple Express (2008)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 01:44:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14321793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casylum/pseuds/Casylum
Summary: "Whatcha got for me?" she says, popping in next to Maya as Palmer calls "Next!" in the bright, peppy tone of someone who has lost the will to live and the patience to deal with people who refuse to look up from their phones."Uh," Maya says, blinking for a moment, hands moving on autopilot. "Three pineapple smoothies with Greek, two strawberry-pineapple shake-ups, one pineapple-banana sparkle, and—" her voice drops "—that fucking guy with the fucking ice cubes and the fucking Splenda."





	no, we're not a starbucks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Karios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karios/gifts).



"I'm doing a supply run," Nana says, whipping off her apron as fast as she can, the strings just barely missing the back blender. She'd be more careful, but this is the first break in the line they've had since open. "What do you need?"

Palmer looks back at her from her place at the register, eyes narrowing in thought as she skips over the drinks counter. "Ice, definitely. Milk? And, uh, medium cups if we've got them."

Nana nods as she shoves her apron underneath the counter, checks the stack of register paper while she's down there, adds them to the list. "Might not, but I'll look. Anything else?"

"Mixed berries," Maya says, head popping over the back of the stand. "Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear. Palmer, the trash is almost done, I just need—"

"Bags," Nana says, and chucks the box wedged between the bake case and the front counter over to where Maya is standing. "And how are we already out of mixed berries? I prepped six tubs of it this morning, and it's only a Tuesday."

"Ah," Maya says knowingly as she disappears behind the boards, the sound of an empty trashcan being beat into submission following shortly after. "But it's a school holiday, and there's a game down at the ballpark in an hour and change, so we're getting the bump."

"Huh," Nana says, and then catches sight of a new horde of people coming down the concourse, some of them actively pointing at the bright, neon pineapple dancing above their heads. "Shit, Palmer—"

"I got it," Palmer says, flapping her hand at Nana as Maya comes back around the counter, installs herself behind the main juicer. "Go, get us some ice."

Nana goes.

~

When she gets back, the clumsy cart that usually lives under the condiments counter now laden down with ice, milk, and fruit, Palmer and Maya are slammed. The clumping of clear plastic cups with PINEAPPLE EXPRESS scrawled across the sides in garish font seems to be multiplying by the second, and the crowd scattered to the right of the kiosk is getting fractious.

Nana hustles through as fast as she can, begins shoveling ice into the coolers as soon as she's in reach. The counters are almost permanently sticky at this point, pineapple and other fruit juices drying out until everything smells like an oversweet, slightly rotting tropical forest. She wipes down whatever's in reach, shoves the fruit into the cooler behind her, the milk in the one in front.

The cart she says fuck it to, and leaves in the short gap between their counters and the rest of the mall. They'll probably need it again in about forty-five minutes anyway.

"Whatcha got for me?" she says, popping in next to Maya as Palmer calls "Next!" in the bright, peppy tone of someone who has lost the will to live and the patience to deal with people who refuse to look up from their phones.

"Uh," Maya says, blinking for a moment, hands moving on autopilot. "Three pineapple smoothies with Greek, two strawberry-pineapple shake-ups, one pineapple-banana sparkle, and—" her voice drops "—that fucking guy with the fucking ice cubes and the fucking Splenda."

Nana winces. She's dealt with The Fucking Guy before, they all have, and she spares a quick moment to wish Casey were there, since she's the only one who seems to be able to interact with him without some sort of disaster striking, but Casey's not on until tomorrow. "I'll take all the rest if you'll take that fucking guy, 'cause I ain't dealing with that today, okay? I already did Vanilla Lady."

Maya rolls her eyes. "Fine, fine, fine. But watch the bar while I deal with him; we want to catch up, not derail."

"Not my first day," Nana trills, turning to the blenders as Palmer calls "Next!" once again.

**Author's Note:**

> have a treat! 
> 
> any and all depictions of mall kiosk work are based off of this author's own experience; any and all references to fruit-based drinks are tragically made up, due to this author's abhorrence of the smoothie after said personal experience. 
> 
> my apologies to the pineapple, my respect to food service workers everywhere.


End file.
